Tree of Life

Commissioned quilt for a new baby.  I love the colors.

Ongoing work

A portion of a quilt that I am working on.  I expect that it will take several years to finish as I am stitching it completely by hand and I am hoping to have this be big enough to fit a queen sized bed.  Stubbs kitty likes it.

Kitty Yoshida City Girl collection.

Dream of Space

I love all-things vintage sci-fi, especially work from the 1950s and early 1960s. Much of my own writing is inspired by old sci-fi movies, books, and art.

Today, instead of posting a new poem I would like to share one of my favorite blogs.
Dream of Space is a beautiful collection of space-related print media marketed to children. The archives contain wonderful artwork about visions of space travel and adventures on other planets - some serious and scholarly, others pure flights of fancy. I hope that you will take some time to enjoy this blog.

Somewhat related...

At some point in the 1980s, I remember reading a futuristic short story about two children who find a book in storage. The children grew up reading on electronic screens and had never seen a book before. The story is about the children discovering the process of reading the printed word. It was written at the point when home computers were starting to become readily available - though at the time electronic transmission of information was still limited and it would be another decade before Internet access for the common consumer would be marketable. I don't remember the name of the story, but it still sticks with me today. Every time I see a Kindle or a Nook I think about that short story and I smile.

"The visions we offer our children shape the future. It matters what those visions are. Often they become self-fulfilling prophecies. Dreams are maps" Carl Sagan, 1994

blue

after that we
            talked about
        glossy lipstick
                              like revelation

      sitting on the
                     grass
           under the trees
        lining main street

                   he described
                            the formality
     of old town issues
                   and the tightness of
                                          good-byes

not that it matters
             when the scenery
          shines brilliantly
    under the blue glow
         of hotel neon lights

a little ditty

     i’m gonna drink this
              blue ribbon beer
and get zen

                   run around the
          kitchen table
                on newly-waxed floors
     in my bubble-wrap socks

gettin’ noisy while i
               march down to
             the rio and
                    move the borders

[play the A-Team theme]
                         reconquista
             for the new king

planning massive protests
      while cussin’ at the
                pinball machine
     in the corner

             the people here
are nice but sometimes
         they’re a little crazy

the feel of it

funny that it sounded
                   reverent
          gripping like stubble
    on a muscled jaw

this habit          upright
keeps silent so long
            then gives way
      to clicking on concrete

the rhythm of deep blue reason
                       and cotton-speak kisses
      lingering
                outside the community center

she was good
     she was very…

to say the least

shindig

i scribbled
           alligators
    on dirty white cinder walls
wrapping invisible bands
                     on the background
   like giants     but a bit less harmful

                   i nodded and tapped
           my foot on the waxed
                    cement floor
when the fighting broke out
         and i noticed that
      i couldn’t see my reflection
                              anymore

routine

he drew in
           another breath
and opened his eyes

                   focused and imagined
         expecting to see rain
    falling on the shoreline
                     absorbed by
                                    the tree
                  until it reaches the wind
                  and forms another cloud

               all he found
                          was noise
          the sort of refinements
that keep life from being
                                  polite
            ideas about things
                                    shouting
        chasing each other
               refusing to be
the first to stop
           and take notice
     when they’ve reached
               the place where there
                                       is no sound

In Search of Lofwyr

I went on a road trip to Crater lake yesterday for a birthday snowball fight. This is one of the many reasons why I love living in Oregon. I live within an hour's drive to awesomeness like this:

Note: Lofwyr is a dragon from an RPG called Shadowrun. In the game, he takes up residence at Wizard Island in Crater Lake.

religion

This is the church where I was baptized. It is being torn down to make room for an expansion for the parole/probation office.

what i love

don't say you love me
unless you really mean it
cause i might sweat it
like i sweat tuna melts
on a saturday night

i love to sit on the patio
and watch cars go by
basking in the fake
spotlight of scribbles
saying words like “peace”

broken for the oh-so
tragically hip trick
but let’s move on before
you figure out that
sentence made zero sense

i really love you like i
love animals and robots
but not necessarily
in that order and so you
end up with something
entirely sentimental

this is why you don’t
sleep with emo kids
and why you are supposed
to love life and hate kittens
and be happy all the time

this narrative is all about
love unlocking the truth
angsty like charles’s granny
but not his missus, at least
not that one in particular

sometimes i crave sushi and
knitted hats from grandma
which means i can’t be
naughty anymore, but yeah

i just imagine that the sun
could melt like snow and
then i would run to you
and flow into falsehoods
right out of the pages of
a teen romance book

Ed Versluis Memorial contest

I entered the Ed Versluis Memorial Contest at Southern Oregon University again this year and I placed first for poetry - second year in a row!

The poem is printed on the Cognito blog, which is run by students in the English/Writing program at SOU. All of the winning entries can be read by clicking HERE.

Congratulations to all of the finalists.

Currently Reading...

Fables, volume 6
Unwritten
Mr. Hyde
The Walking Dead

fun with photoshop

Currently Reading...

Locke & Key, Volume 2
Fables, Volume 3
Axe Cop

lingering

i drifted back
           remembering the way
      it had been before

                eyes that trusted
his breath on my cheek
          whispering promises

while the world
            crashed down
                the steps
         and littered
                   the gutters

i melted
               and slid
                 into the chaos

        boy pressed in and
brought me back
                  to the moment

them boots

girl was there
without her boots

couldn’t wait anymore
caressed the edge

scared that she
               might slide
      unstoppable
                    babbling on

but she was committed
to get on with it

knucklebones

silence hung over us
like the last rays
fighting to light the clouds

difficult to satisfy skin
when the need to
                            interlock

slips through the fingers
of cupped hands marked
by the ancestry of strangers

an hour to kill

boy sat in the corner
shook his head and
looked at the new information

he tended to forget
that he was the heir
to the whole story

he talked about doing--
a bus to San Francisco
painting children
or something like that

but he only had
an hour to kill
and no extra room
in the empty pages
of his book

lacking

         this is not a
simple habit
assuming safety         contradicts
           the pursuit of blood ties

orientation for the
                            horrible things
            moving from
                           sad to violent
discouraged by the challenge of
               restructuring tradition

       no one sleeps
                   in the settlement houses
          dreams lost in decades of paperwork
      love loses its hold
             to the dominance
                                of obsession

waves

       i missed the
                    easy chatter
soft hands floating across my face
        constantly changing
                like the
sun-shot water of
           azure sea
                     sheer panels
                                        in blue
        gliding over
         bare shoulders and perfumed hair
precious enough to
             walk the dangerous route
                  and risk death
     in hopes of
                   finding clarity

vermilion

i sat quietly in a corner
   and fidgeted
       under the                       pulsebeats
         of warriors               readied
with armor
                like iron weights
          demanding honorable death

equity

tita gambled on
quantum mechanics
but she clashed
with students and
common thinkers

she considered reform
disappointing like
assassinations for wages
and hangovers
in morocco

her standards were
secondary to appearances
and she would have
started a rebellion to
get a perfect cup of tea

hysteria

and then everything blew up
like an atomic hell
failure to discipline led
to a sloshing around
of separate interests and
abandoned commitments
people gone crazy
the distant never healed
memories of a time
before disease grow
fewer and farther between
even when he takes to anger
and screams about tradition

off balance

something about the way
her hair was always
changing colors
and the slow beat of
her rhythmic sway
made him feel
a little off balance
as he pressed her frame
against his own
and aligned her
with the truth
hoping she would feel it too
all she did was nod
and grip a little tighter

full-time job

a few minutes pass
and then we peer out
onto time and chaos

i get the weird feeling
that this will be
a full-time job

must make it
            resonate
with the soft
and openhearted
even though it
will mean nothing

but we’re stuck here
like bad traffic
until the chemistry
is fully balanced

last song

she gave him
a sad look
and stopped him
from going along

her body moved like
perfume on a soft breeze
as she slipped
into the shadows

he was suspicious of the
mad rocket child
as he backed out
against the skyline

but he swallowed hard
and accepted fate
listening to the last song
without complaining

california

after that we talked about
the usual stuff
Star Trek       murder and
lingering kisses
i liked the way he knew
my different names
and the tough dark spot
below my stomach
where i had been cut into
with the cake knife

a bit late

boy paid 30 cents
for a wrinkled brow
and a serious voice
          but he didn’t get his tea

                              likes it tidy

could get it for
a quarter and a smile
but he’d have to be
willing to shake
          that eerie feeling

                             and shut the door

saturday

trying to imagine
the most important thing
put off-kilter
and easier to define

            hopes down
            unable to resonate
            like eyes glowing
            in the darkness

he shrugs smugly and
hands out books to the blind
nothing to oppose
nothing to control

wholesale lies

he stood in
broad daylight and
declared that he
wasn’t a spy

but he profited
from false statements
and wholesale lies

we were easily overcome
by the strange matter
of his claims

each bit of propaganda
poured out of clay pots
containing war and disease

no truth to the stories
but they get the heart
pumping

better ways to start

this is not a
          sure test
  of temptation
      and may not
   end in a kiss
or even a smooch

      separated without injury
        intended for
                      equal rank
  but not ideal for
       deep or intimate

famine

      doubt spreads
                 and dies in my arms
speaker as true
            implications for the future
                 $28 a month
            for training
         to properly express
                               hope
               to the sick and suffering
                    only way to help
raining for a week
         does little for
                         drought-affected lands
          even when foreign troops arrive
             with one-time gifts
                       and new underwear

part of the problem

consequences
                of lightning
some peculiar brilliance
                but always good
      for the heart
lots of reasons
       to define
   being or state
       it calls
               special notice
         to assertive power
not ideal
        but firmly establishes
    reasons to
                   slack off

answers

she stood at the fire
    bright-eyed
and learned
       about grace
soft answers
           observed
     in the hot coals
that looked like
     they could go on
              forever
the curfew bell
                 tolled
vibrating off the stars
      she begged
             for more wisdom
before going to sleep

down again

boy grabbed the
rain-soaked night
and thrust it into
the fire pit
the stench of rotting
stars came over us
like rioting

we felt warm as
the last bits
disappeared and mingled
with the ashes
boy finally slept
even though it was
still raining

Hopscotch

 Quilt for Marsa

simple

there is safety in simplicity
but my heart is not there

i left it with the salesman
for the cost of the
sea and the storm

but it didn’t pass examination
and might still be free

art class

we stood on the plastic chairs
and dared each other to
     jump
           deeply
into the quiet of our minds
     like rain bombarding
the root of a tree
and drawing it upward
     through the branches
          and leaves
carrying it to the
sky to meet the storm

we laughed as we crashed
     to the floor
and i realized the
     barking dogs
overwhelming his thoughts
kept him from
     closing his eyes and
          going deep

honorable pilgrimage

ninja bunny dreams of
wandering the land
during the time of
dangerous snow and the
shadow of the ancestor
who once dwelled here

thursday is an effort but
he takes out a katana and
prepares for a good old
mexican standoff

the secret to creativity
is to keep pedro from
knowing what you’re doing

ninja bunny dives into battle
on a quest of grave importance
to bring down love
when it grows beyond
the courage of a fox
and cannot be stopped
with a blow-dart gun
or stories from the
codex of wisdom

two for tea

boy sat silently
    sipping his tea
             in the din of
     frantic emotion

and the lost turned their
     backs on the room

boy smiled and
   poured hope
into the cracked pottery
      gathering dust in the
      corners of my tidy mind

disclaimer

i did not write this
but we can use the remains
to power the generator

provided that we all agree
that crows are always black

the psychic will
see you now

sometimes he paints dogs
on dusty black velvet
as a break from pondering
(alchemy)
and the experiment that
went horribly wrong

black canary had a daughter
with the power of telekinesis

part of the experiment

this is what he calls
‘being a trooper’
but we all have our own
opinion about that

the psychic will
see you now

channel 13 is haunted

panda tactical assassin
meets black and white horror
with menacing
dark-wave garage pop

like an alien
wiggling its way out
from inside

     OH NOOOO

there's a
dark message in her
written in brown felt-tip
     doodle
          scribble

ninja panda whispers back
          POP
y'all are spies

the black smoke
did her in

electro on the dance floor

rickety
     tambourine haunts
             jangle
                     and shake
against a tangerine skyline

          assembled by
13 assassins
          with rubber bands
and bubble gum
                    wrappers
and a machine that gives
                superhuman powers

two for a quarter

                   to be clear
we’re talking about
           ordinary objects
                                    and conflicts
settled by
                   rock
        paper
                      scissors

or eeny meeny
               if you’ve got the time

assassin

panic became a wolf
                       lurking
            under the banner of war

it attacked the heart
           and watched it die
pulsing naked on the ground

junkyard ghosts

he leaned back and
            squinted
     searching
                    for details
            in the haze
of smudged charcoal

memories laid out in
                    short strokes
nothing connected
    cognition lost
         in the periphery